Open
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Laxus and Mira consider what it means to be fully open with one another. - One-shot, Miraxus Week Day 1: Scars.


"How did you get it?"

"Get what?"

"Your scar."

Mirajane stared at Laxus with the same disappointment he'd stared at so many other women, in moments like this, just like this, where they were at their closest, their most intimate, and he began to have ideas and feelings and thoughts and desires for something more, something concrete, something real, but then they'd brush their finger over his most cliché part, the zigzag that laid across his eye, and question him about it. Ponder. Wonder. Ask. Blatantly. Because they thought they could. Because they were in a relationship, or at least something close, they were close and that meant that they could discuss the sorts of things that one discusses when they're close, but they weren't close.

Someone close to you, who felt so deeply for you, everything beneath the surface and in-between the crevices, would never ask something like that. Because they would know. Without ever lingering on it, ever questioning it, they would just know. Be well aware. Without knowing the truth, they would know better than to ask. Something so personal and tragic and...and…

And he thought they were different.

Because they were different.

She was different, than every other woman that thought that because they could bring him to his knees that he should just surrender every hidden part of himself. He was different, with her, than the closed off, distant and expectant, so expectant and rigid, man that he was with every other woman.

If she'd asked him, if she'd really asked him, straight up and honestly, about how he found himself with a lightning bolt scarring his flesh, he would tell her straight up. Not get huffy or defensive. Not give some bullshit, bogus lie about how he'd done it himself, or had it done, maybe, with the help of Freed and Bickslow, to make himself look cool. No. He'd have told her the truth. Not withdrawn or been ashamed. Been angry or defensive.

Mirajane was different to him, than every other woman before, and he loved her, he truly, honestly loved something, someone, for once, and it was so real and raw and it hadn't really been that long, but he'd never felt this way, not really, not even when he'd thought that this was the exact thing that he was feeling, all those times before, but this time was so different and real and special and she was it. He knew she was it.

Perhaps it was his own self-importance, the arrogance and swagger he had, to think that just because he felt this way, just because he'd fallen so hopelessly and madly in love, that without a doubt, of course, Mirajane had found herself feeling the same. That of course, to her, their summer romance while the S-Class jobs weren't rolling in and he was taking a break, while she was finding more time off work as Kinana desired more hours, wasn't going to bloom into something more, but rather die off, fade away, with the long days, like a fling should, like all summer flings should. Because oh, they were the same, of course they were the same, but at the same time, they were so different because he was in love, he knew he was in love, he could tell he was in love, truly in love, but she was not.

Was she?

The way she withdrew then, from him, as he traced a finger across the faded, old, but still prominent scar she had right beneath her left breast, long and crooked, but hidden typically from the world, even with her typical skimpiest of outfits or swimwear, it lay just so perfectly, but prominently, to Laxus, who spent so much of his time with his head buried there now. And he'd traced it before, both with the tips of his fingers and the point of his tongue, but now as he did it with the edge of his fingernail and spoke those words, so softly, that he'd so often heard spoken to him.

Mirajane shifted back from him, a certain look crossing over his previously content expression, and he had to wonder how he'd fucked it up, so quickly, so easily, so _obviously_, as the moment shattered and he fell away from her as well, both silent now with their own realizations about the other, spawning from a simple question.

Laxus would have told Mirajane anything he wanted. He thought that he did tell her everything she wanted. He'd opened up, in this short expanse of days where it felt much longer than the multitude of years they'd known one another, however sparingly, for the majority of their teenage years and all of their adulthood. He knew so much about her, learned so much about her, from this some odd thirty, sixty days, whatever it was, it didn't matter, all that mattered was how special they were, how important, those days, these days, but if this was fleeting, if she didn't feel that way, if she didn't hope the same as him, that the summer never ended, then…

Then…

"I'm sorry."

"Dragon-"

"No, I shouldn't have ask-"

"It's not that."

Mirajane found that she couldn't look at him. That she didn't want to. Then. He was getting out of bed then, following her silence, and she felt like she should do something, to stop this from happening, but at the same time, she wasn't the one who'd spurred it on.

Was she?

No.

No.

He'd done this, by questioning her, asking her that, and she hadn't mean to draw away, visibly recoil at his words, but it just took her back a bit, his question. In a way she wasn't expecting. It wasn't exactly something she was asked about frequently. If at all. Mira found most everyone had scars, in some way or another, especially given the line of work they were in. And considering so many of the men she did find interest in were also mages, working far more than she did in those days, most of their bodies were speckled and marred by an assortment, some even in awkward places.

But Laxus' was different. She'd give him that. If she knew his hangup about it, then she would surrender that nugget to him, yes, of course, because his was so prominent, so much a part of who he was, brought together his whole facial structure, really.

Plus, well, she knew Laxus fancied himself as different. From the rest of them. His pain and trauma, baggage and backstory were intricate to him in a way the rest of them didn't understand. Laxus lived for his pain and his anguish. The remembrance. He liked to pretend that it was in his past, where it belonged, like the rest of them were forced to do away with their own, but unlike the rest of them, Fairy Tail wasn't an escape, a gateway away from the tragic years that brought them as wayward youths to the guild's sanctuary. It was a constant reminder of all he'd gone through, the enigma that brought about so much strife to his family. Fairy Tail was the Dreyars, but also destroyed the Dreyars.

Even if everything had worked out, when she was young, in her village, she imagined she'd still have left eventually, would have had to, to get away from what it had meant, what she'd felt, all the scenery to remind her, constantly, of when she lost her parents, her childhood, and her freedom. She'd want to be somewhere new, carving a path, separate from the things that had drug her down, even if it wasn't to her absolute degradation, somewhere where she wasn't remind constantly of what she'd lost. Who she'd lost.

Mirajane loved Fairy Tail because all her early memories tied to it involved discovering her magic, battling it out with Erza, watching her younger brother and sister, both ravaged by the world, come out of their shells again, find friends again, discover happiness again.

Laxus' memories, as he'd told her before, in moments like this, where he felt his most open, consisted of all the people he'd known, not just his parents, but all of the people, the past members, who eitehr died out there, on jobs, or just went away, disappeared, gone of to live fulfilling lives separate from the only thing that he could ever imagine being; a Fairy Tail wizard.

A mage.

A fairy.

Laxus lived with his trauma, his past, shoved in his face every single time he walked through the wrought iron gates and into the hall, the one that had changed so many damn times, but still felt the same, no matter it's grown or shrinkage, as the air inside consisted of the exact same presence it always did, all the way back to when he was just a little kid.

The scar cut across his eye was much the same. Plain for everyone to see. But hidden in the fact that he'd never tell, he couldn't tell, anyone anything about it. Refused.

With the power of transformation magic, Mirajane could hide just about any blemish or marking on her body that she wished. And she didn't mostly, usually. It was a nominal amount of magic, it was almost second nature to her. She didn't know what it was not to hide away parts of herself. Not face them. Not force others to do the same.

But it was different. Overnight. Frequent, overnights, which she found herself dealing with then, with Laxus, as they'd lay in bed together, so openly and freely, and she warned him the first time, she let it all down, her magic and guard, but he only laughed and made some passing remark about how silly she was. Feminine. Girly. Womanly. Something like that. Equally dismissive. To be so concerned about appearance.

She laughed too, because it did sound silly, didn't it? All of it? To care about something like that? And it was so hot, that summer, the summer that they were together nearly every night, falling into his bed together, alone in his apartment instead of crammed and hammed up with her siblings back home, that Mira found it best not to wear anything, nothing at all if she could help it, and it felt so freeing for it to occur to the two of them, at the same time, the same thought, without a word spoken between them.

When the guise fell, when the ruse faded her flesh didn't look so pure and white, but nothing about the two of them ever was and Laxus seemed happy and content, in his own way, his unspoken way, for them to be like this together. Open. Unabashed.

Laxus didn't want the summer to end, but Mirajane did. She wanted it to shift to the colder months, where they had to cuddle up together and wait out the heat once more. He didn't want things to change, but she couldn't wait until they did, until they changed into something even more solid and real.

"Seriously, just drop it. I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay, Laxus. Really. I-"

"You don't have to tell me-"

"I know why you asked."

Of course she did.

Of course she did.

Because of all the random assortments of scars she had, from all the battles she'd fought, won and lost, this one was the oddest, wasn't it? All alone? In it's age? It looked far fresher, because it was, than any other she had. In a strange place. He was curious because he brushed against it so frequently, because she talked of her life so frequently, but never mentioned this not yet faded, not truly, still raised somewhat, rough patch of skin. Even without her magic, the others were all at least somewhat hard to notice, as they blended with age, but this one was different.

Why was everything about the two of them so different?

This was hidden because she chose to hide it, she was able to hide it, with or without her magic, and it was separate, from everything, and she knew he'd question it, eventually, he seemed to run his fingers, tongue, everything across it so frequently, and this was just a game of averages, between the two of them. Trying to out play the other. How much could be given up in exchange for silence on the rest?

He meant no disrespect, hadn't considered the possibility of such a negative reaction, but as he sat there then, on the edge of the bed, feet rooted in the floor, he wasn't pushing up, getting away, like he'd seemed to desire the second he realized the err in his delving. Instead, he just sat there, head turned just slightly in the darkness of his bedroom, staring over at her with something of interest, maybe, or perhaps just hopeful acceptance once more. Whether she told him the truth or not, expelled all of her secrets and thoughts and feelings and emotions regarding the scarred flesh no longer mattered; he just wanted her to pull him back down on the bed and banish any fears over misdeed.

But when she reached for him, to pull him back down, into the bed once more, it wasn't to rectify his mistake, but rather to sigh, deeply as they rested their foreheads against one another's, the silence different now, but still hinged on something.

"I just," Mira whispered softly as he bowed his head then, her lips brushing over his golden locks instead, "don't like to talk about it. Think about it."

"That's okay," Laxus assured her, burying his head into her, wishing he could go back to how he was before, when he wasn't absolutely terrified of the thought that she didn't want him, or wouldn't want him any longer, once the summer began its descent. "Really. We-"

"It was...recently, is all." She thread some fingers into his hair then, blinking some as she thought. "And not in...battle or training or anything, so I just..."

He wasn't ready again, so soon, but that was fine because that wasn't what she wanted and when she pushed him back, shoved him really, suddenly, so he was staring up at her, Laxus only blinked sleepily.

Reaching down, Mira traced a finger over the zagging line that scarred his face, made him look so mean, so evil, so much like her Satan Soul take over, but different, because he wore this every single day. Not as a mask, but as a part of himself.

They were so different.

His eyelid fluttered shut, instinctively, void of intention, while the other stayed wide open, watching as she applied pressure, just a bit, while gliding down the lightning bolt-esque marking over his eyes, feeling it, truly, for the first time.

"Who gave you yours?" she asked softly and he didn't even think about it, didn't reflect, just answered honestly.

"Ivan," he replied dryly, but honestly and Mirajane nodded her head slightly as she removed her finger from his cheek.

"I was dating a...jerk, a few months before you first asked me out." She shrugged some, glancing away from him then. "From another guild. It was...different, than how it is, with you and me. And we kind of… He just wasn't someone I should have been with. He had his own stuff going on-"

"Do I," Laxus asked her softly then, his voided gaze turning harder then, "know him?"

"No," she whispered, but she nodded her head, just a bit, and he glared. Then, sighing, she added, "It doesn't matter."

He wanted to argue, she could tell, but relented some as he remarked, "Why did he...cut you?"

It felt blunt, put like that, and Mirajane looked away as she remarked, "He didn't. Not really. We were...fighting, and his magic… It's stupid. His magic just caught me because I wasn't going to, you know, transform on him or anything. I just...and he…he underestimated me. Most men do."

Reaching out, he sat up some as he caught her chin, just slightly, in his palm, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were on even ground again. Finally.

"I don't," Laxus whispered to which she smiled, weakly, distantly, just really.

"I know," she agreed as he fell back then. "Dragon."

They were shifting again, together now, as she slowly fell back into bed as well, and they were together again, settling once more for the night. In the morning, she had to get down to the hall and he'd promised to train with the Thunder Legion, so they needed their sleep, they needed far more than they were typically allotted, but at the same time, in that moment, he didn't want it.

At all.

But she did.

At least somewhat.

"Why do things have to change?" he muttered as his eyes felt heavy and this was all just a dream, almost, kind of, it felt like, but Mia's lips felt warm against his cheek as well as her breath, reminding him that it was all real, all too real.

It felt like a weird thing to say, a very weird thing to say, honestly, but somehow, someway, because they really were connected, maybe, unspoken, but known, and Mirajane understood perfectly.

"Because if they don't," she answered with a yawn, falling back into her side of the bed then as he blinked at her some more, determination the only thing winning out against sleep in the battle to keep his eyes either open or closed, "then they can never get any better."

"Can't get any worse," he reminded, but she only shrugged.

"Sometimes," she told him simply, "it's worth the risk."

And after finding this to be true, following his question that brought about the entire interaction, it was hard for him to do anything other than agree.

* * *

**Ay, it's Miraxus Week for 2020. I dunno if I'mma do all the prompts, but we'll see. Don't Forget should have a new chapter by the end of the week, I've just been kinda bogged down recently, is all. **


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